


I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea

by MovesLikeBucky



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale has a Thwarting Kink, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Gentle Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Light Dom/sub, Like it's barely there but also is very much, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, and also dark alleys!, which isn't a tag but it should be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:15:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29593350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: Crowley may not be a demon in occupation anymore, but he is still a demon in nature. And, as all things in nature, needs must be met.--Or, Crowley goes out to do some tempting, Aziraphale thoroughly sees to his thwarting.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 155
Collections: Unleash The Chaos - Zine Fics and Art





	I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the NSFW Digital Edition of the Unleash the Chaos Zine! A zine completely dedicated to Crowley's Fuck Shit Up jacket!
> 
> I was so incredibly fortunate to work with emotional_snek, who did an art piece to go with this fic, which I will link to once it is posted <3 <3
> 
> This title was shamelessly stolen from Fall Out Boy and I have no regrets or shame xD

_Itchy_.

That’s the best word for how his skin feels. How his corporation feels in general. Itchy.

Not at a surface level, mind. More of a soul-deep itch. So far under the surface that no amount of scratching or cajoling or whining could possibly fix it.

Demons are meant to cause trouble. To make mischief and wreak havoc on the world around them. When they don’t, it starts to wear thin. Starts to grate down on the core of them, the base of their nervous system. Makes them twitchy and irritable, much like waking up on the wrong side of the bed.

Crowley may not be a demon in occupation anymore, but he is still a demon in nature. And, as all things in nature, needs must be met.

He quietly pads down the stairs of the bookshop, past the backroom where Aziraphale is doing who knows what. This is new, the cohabitation. The stolen kisses and cuddling and…well… other much more lustful activities. Aziraphale doesn’t sleep; he’s never seen the appeal of it. Most nights he sits up with a book, lets Crowley drape himself around him, wound like the snake he is. He lets Crowley sleep and snuggle and bind while he stays up, reading by the light of his halo. Other nights, Aziraphale stays down in the shop, doing inventory or whatever else is necessitated by virtue of pretending to be a purveyor of antiquated books.

Tonight is one of the latter, and Crowley is ready to crawl out of his skin.

He peers around the corner, spying on the love of his extremely long life. Aziraphale is hard at work, rebinding some ancient tome, probably worth more than the shop is (which is saying something, in today’s London real estate market). He’s fully engrossed in the book, in the act of remaking. Aziraphale has a penchant for broken things, and for broken demons. Either way, he’ll be at it for a few more hours yet. Crowley softly tiptoes past the backroom towards the door, opening it slowly and quietly, closing it just as carefully behind him.

The tension unspools from his shoulders as he approaches his Bentley and opens the boot. Out of the darkness he pulls out a jacket. Plastic and durable, about four sizes too big, with bright orange reflective patches and a badge tucked into the pocket. The moon is his only witness as he shrugs the jacket onto his shoulders. He pats the steering wheel as he clambers into the Bentley. 

“Alright old girl,” he says as he takes a pair of sunglasses out of the glove compartment and slides them onto his face, “time to get to work.”

* * *

A couple of well placed roadblocks, some caution tape, and a hard hat is all he needs past the jacket. Rerouting the London cabbies away from the Soho pubs proves to be easier than he thought. No one questions someone in an official looking work jacket with a badge; it’s the best urban camouflage money can buy (or, in this case, that demonic wiles can manifest).

As he weaves through the shambling and drunken masses now forced to find their way on foot, he smiles. The itch under his skin subsides at the confusion and the anger in the air. He flicks his forked tongue out to taste it, and it tastes like victory.

There’s another feeling that’s settled over him, like a blanket of fog draping over his shoulders. He’s felt the entire night as though he’s been watched. That prickle on the back of his neck that speaks of being followed. Of being _observed_. He hasn’t felt it in months, not since before the apocalypse-that-couldn’t.

It’s _unnerving_ , and worse, it’s mucking up his fun. 

He treads carefully, keeping an eye out and keeping his senses keen. Determined not to let anything catch him with his guard down; yellow eyes shifting this way and that under dark lenses.

Despite this precaution, he’s blindsided when he’s grabbed and shoved roughly into an alley.

“Foul fiend, I knew you were up to something.”

He barely has time to register that it’s Aziraphale before he finds himself pushed into a brick wall, one soft and well manicured hand behind his head to cushion the blow, and plush angelic lips covering his, silencing any questions that were about to jump out of his mouth.

Crowley moans into the kiss, it’s always a revelation, even after all these months. Aziraphale kissing him, loving him, wanting him. And wanting him is definitely the phrase, Crowley can feel the hard line of Aziraphale’s erection against his thigh, spurring his own cock’s response.

“ _Angel!”_ Crowley gasps out when they break. He’s already breathing heavy, his glasses have somehow gotten pushed up into his hair, and Aziraphale looks maddeningly put together. A faint dusting of red on his cheeks, barely visible in the light of the moon and the streetlamps, is the only indication he’s just been snogging someone senseless in an alley.

“I see you’ve been up to something tonight, my love,” Aziraphale says, hands running along the lapels of the jacket. Gently and reverently, a lover’s caress. “Thought I might come and thwart your mischievous ways.”

“Oh, is that what you’re doing?” Crowley tries to ask in a way that’s aloof, but it falls short and instead lands decidedly in the 'horribly affected' category.

“Hmmm…” Aziraphale hums as he toys with the lanyard of Crowley's ID badge, nuzzling their noses together. “It is if that’s what you want it to be.”

It’s a heady feeling for Crowley, this casual intimacy that makes him feel like he’s basking on a rock in the sun. Six-thousand years one would think one would know everything there is to know about someone, but no, Aziraphale still surprises him every day. This is no exception as Crowley’s mind cuts through the fog to put two and two together.

“Aziraphale… do you have a _thing_ for thwarting me?” Crowley asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I…um…” Aziraphale starts to stammer, that lovely pink hue darkening in time with his words, “I might have… perhaps a time or two… in fantasies, you have to understand—“

“Aziraphale did you pull me into an alley for a snog because you’ve _fantasized_ about thwarting me?”

Aziraphale’s eyes shift and his hands twist in the lanyard, like he needs something for them to do. And _oh_ isn’t this a revelation.

“Maybe, yes. I heard you leave, snuck a peek out of the window. As soon as I saw the jacket I knew you were up to no good and… well…” Aziraphale’s eyes finally meet his again, a storm raging in their hazel depths as he leans in closer, “…it is _awfully_ tempting.”

“Yeah… _awfully_ ,” Crowley echoes with a whisper as their lips meet again. As he swipes his tongue along Aziraphale’s lips, delighting when the angel opens up to him. As he tastes cocoa and biscuits on Aziraphale’s tongue and relishes having the ability to savor it. 

Aziraphale’s kisses trail lower, along his neck and over his pulse point before he sinks to his knees. 

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, darling?”

“We’re in an alley.”

“True…” Aziraphale says thoughtfully, trailing off as he works open the zipper on Crowley’s trousers, “but I don’t much care at the moment.”

“You’ll get your trousers dirty—“

“And?” Aziraphale pulls Crowley’s too-skinny jeans down his thighs.

“And then you’ll be _cross_ —“

“You’ll just miracle it away, won’t you my dear?” A soft and strong hand wraps around Crowley’s length, stroking just enough to bring him to full hardness. “May I?”

“ _Fuck_ , yes,” Crowley breathes out as he buries his hand in Aziraphale’s hair, stroking through the soft curls, gripping him firmly at the base of his skull.

“Oh, and darling?” Aziraphale stares up at him through his eyelashes, eyes full of love and adoration, “do try to keep your voice down.”

It’s not a question, nor is it a request. It’s spoken with such conviction that Crowley can’t help but comply with it, swallowing a cry back down as Aziraphale takes the head of his cock into his mouth, tongue swiping across the tip and teasing the sensitive skin there.

Crowley’s hand flies up to cover his mouth as Aziraphale works him in deeper, eyes sparkling as he looks up at him. Crowley can’t look at him, it’s too much, he’s too bright and too beautiful. He throws his head back against the wall, flattens his palm against it.

Aziraphale is silent as he bobs his head, slowly and steadily. A calm rhythm that makes Crowley want to buck up into his mouth. Makes him want to scream out Aziraphale’s name; to let all of Soho hear him. But he’s been told to be quiet, so he bites his hand instead, almost hard enough to break the skin.

One hand cups his slender arse to reposition him, to change the angle so Aziraphale can take him deeper. Crowley’s hand tangles in Aziraphale’s hair as he tries his level best to stay still, to let the angel see to his work - to see to _him_ \- as he sees fit. The look on Aziraphale’s face wouldn’t be out of place at the Ritz or the Savoy; lips wrapped around a filet mignon or chocolate mousse instead of a demon’s cock. Aziraphale has always enjoyed savoring things.

All too soon Crowley is approaching his release, knees shaking and threatening to give out as heat pools in the core of him.

“Angel, I’m gonna…” Crowley’s words are muffled behind his hand.

Aziraphale looks up at him and honest to Satan _winks_ as he takes him in to the base, hand on his arse gripping tight. It’s entirely too much and Crowley sinks his teeth into his own hand as he spills down Aziraphale’s throat.

Aziraphale pulls off of him slowly and rises to his feet, pulling Crowley’s trousers back up and tucking him back into them. He carefully pulls Crowley’s hand off of his mouth and kisses him far too sweetly for what they just did. Crowley’s legs give out at the gentleness of it and Aziraphale catches him around the waist, holding him steady.

“Careful, darling, we’re in an alley you’ll get your trousers dirty.” Aziraphale says with a smirk. Crowley just nuzzles into his neck and laughs.

“What about you?” He asks, reaching for the angel’s braces, ready to unsnap them and return the favor.

“Shh, that can wait, my love. Let’s go home, I’ll let you see to me thoroughly there.”

Crowley makes a string of unintelligible noises of assent, leaning against Aziraphale as they walk out of the alley side-by-side, humans around none-the-wiser to their little tryst.

Side by side, and arm in arm, they make their way back to the bookshop.

They make their way back home.


End file.
